


Names That Are Stories

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Lies, Misdirection, and Terrible Truth [15]
Category: Mythology - Fandom, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: GFY, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She stands motionless, her crows dancing restlessly in the still air, all watching each other. Trickster, Shaper, Thunder, Widow, Hawk, Protector, Rage, Winnower and Queen. The condemned circled and waiting for sentence. All waiting in the stillness for something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Names That Are Stories

There is silence on the field, deep and echoing. Blood and dust mingle in the air, and taste like victory, like defeat. It is not yet over, though the creatures, emblemless, without substance and nearly without soul, are dead, defeated. Their master, broken and driven to his knees, a spear balanced precariously between mercy and destruction at his neck.

She stands motionless, her crows dancing restlessly in the still air, all watching each other. Trickster, Shaper, Thunder, Widow, Hawk, Protector, Rage, Winnower and Queen. The condemned circled and waiting for sentence. All waiting in the stillness for something.

"Who is he?" That is the Protector, blue and red and white. Fragile mortal hidden beneath the hero who holds more than he knows, but less than what he might.

"The one who would court Death." Her voice is sharp and harsh as ever, fragmented between her and her constructs, though no one but she hears them. "One who cannot understand."

"I understand more than you," the creature hisses, not as broken as he would think he appears. Broken in body, but still raging in soul. Foolish thing.

"Yet you still do not ask the epithets of those you had thought to fight." Winnower's voice is slippery flame, creation and destruction, mercy and death. As it should be.

"So tell us." The Shaper speaks, his voice distorted by his mask, his arms crossed over his chest. Red and gold, and blue-white fire leaking through. "I mean, he might not want to know, but I do."

She laughs, tilting her head like her birds. "Then hear me, Shaper of Fire, and heed. Phantom Queen, battle-crow. Washer at the Ford, and chooser of the slain. The emblems of death are mine, and I will take as I will."

Raising one hand, she gestures carelessly at the Winnower, who still balances on a moment. Not undecided, but waiting. "The Winnower of Death, the Wanton. Sister to her husband, who knows only he cannot touch. Whispered life and silent death."

"Ego, much?" The Hawk is looking between them with an expression of doubt. His bow is half-raised, arrow nocked to the string as if it will be a weapon of use.

Her eyes narrow, and her crows jeer sharply as they rise, but a barely-seen shake of a head stops her reach. The Trickster has banished weapons and armor alike, and she frowns at this. They are not yet allies, these mortals - more than mortals, less than gods. Yet he will leave himself vulnerable before them, and stay her hand from even the gentlest of lessons she might teach.


End file.
